Thursday, June 16, 2005
Care and feeding of your petard
Heh heh.
Oh, and apparently for the first time this year I have erred. But it is only human, and so am I, and I may not be entirely infallible but. . .but I have a nice arse?
Damn.
I am writing for money again. Proper writing, not just corporate blah. Forgotten how nice it is. As usual it doesn't entirely represent my view on things, but that's what this is for (ostensibly). Can't go flashing my bleeding heart everywhere. My throbbing brain, on the other hand, is anyone's for a price.
It might even do the undoable and get me to post short posts instead of enormous ones. Or I'll just have more to write about - writing - so it'll just end up as some terrible cereal box with a picture of a man with a cereal box showing a picture of a man with a cereal box showing a picture of David Hasselhoff in his pants. Ha!
I just 'set' the dog on two little snots who couldn't be arsed to shut the gate after delivering the crappy freesheet. I shut the gate myself, trudging down the soggy path and back (the weather here is past grim), and then let slip the K of war just as they were coming back past my fence. He bounded breakneck down the garden in exactly the way you see big cats uncoiling after gazelle, hollering paper-boy recipes, and then stood towering over them with his front feet on the fence. He was wagging his tail at this point and asking for fuss, as he does with the postman, but they both cringed gratifyingly. Heh heheheh.
I'm going to make a brilliant old baggage.
Oh, and apparently for the first time this year I have erred. But it is only human, and so am I, and I may not be entirely infallible but. . .but I have a nice arse?
Damn.
I am writing for money again. Proper writing, not just corporate blah. Forgotten how nice it is. As usual it doesn't entirely represent my view on things, but that's what this is for (ostensibly). Can't go flashing my bleeding heart everywhere. My throbbing brain, on the other hand, is anyone's for a price.
It might even do the undoable and get me to post short posts instead of enormous ones. Or I'll just have more to write about - writing - so it'll just end up as some terrible cereal box with a picture of a man with a cereal box showing a picture of a man with a cereal box showing a picture of David Hasselhoff in his pants. Ha!
I just 'set' the dog on two little snots who couldn't be arsed to shut the gate after delivering the crappy freesheet. I shut the gate myself, trudging down the soggy path and back (the weather here is past grim), and then let slip the K of war just as they were coming back past my fence. He bounded breakneck down the garden in exactly the way you see big cats uncoiling after gazelle, hollering paper-boy recipes, and then stood towering over them with his front feet on the fence. He was wagging his tail at this point and asking for fuss, as he does with the postman, but they both cringed gratifyingly. Heh heheheh.
I'm going to make a brilliant old baggage.
